Spycraft. Part 5

Although the earpiece was small, it was not small enough to be worn on the street without the possibility of attracting attention. "The earpiece had an obvious a problem," said one OTS staffer who was involved with the design. "You couldn't be seen wearing a piece of plastic in your ear without drawing attention." So OTS disguise specialists produced a "Hollywood solution." After taking a casting of a case officer's ear, they fas.h.i.+oned a false, silicone ear that fit over the Phonak receiver. Realistic down to the last detail, the covering was sculpted and tinted to duplicate the shadow of the ear ca.n.a.l. Each case officer received four earpieces, two for the right ear and two for the left ear. Officers could insert the receiver into the ear ca.n.a.l and place the ear mold in front to cover the device.

In addition to masking the earpiece, the sham ear exterior offered another benefit. The sculpting was done with such precision that it not only held the listening device firmly in place without adhesive, but also blocked out ambient street noise, rendering the Russian transmissions more intelligible.

Over time, OTS experimented with other methods for transmission surveillance. In one design, the smaller induction coil was placed in a smoking pipe, called "the Tooth Fairy." The case officer could hold the pipe in his teeth and "hear" through bone-conducted vibrations transmitted along his jaw to his ear ca.n.a.l. Another engineering concept using bone conduction called for incorporating the Phonak circuitry into the bridge of an officer's set of false teeth.

Within two years, the technology had progressed from correlating KGB radio communications with surveillance to being able to identify locations and activities of surveillance teams. A case officer could now walk out on the street, monitor the transmissions, and know with certainty whether or not he had surveillance. "When I heard that transmission and knew I'd been called out, I knew I was, for whatever reason, of some interest to them on that day," said a tech about his Moscow experience. "I didn't know whether or not they were calling me out to a surveillance team that was waiting around the corner or because they needed instructions about whether I was a target that day. I just knew that if the transmissions continued, they were looking at me. If the transmissions ceased, I knew there was a good chance I was free. And if the transmissions resumed later, I knew the KBG had me back on their active list."

The CIA's acc.u.mulated operational experience combined with OTS technological countermeasures revealed that the KGB surveillance apparatus, while daunting, was by no means perfect. A key to operational success became patience, as case officers learned that weeks, even months, of routine activity in pattern and profile, was often necessary to set the stage for a single clandestine act.

In time, case officers discovered that even under surveillance they could sometimes go black go black-vanish from sight-for relatively brief periods without setting off alarm bells. Soviet-style clothing, for instance, might be enough to blend into the population for relatively brief periods of time-just long enough to perform an operational act-and pop up again in view of the watchers, who no doubt breathed a sigh of relief. Personnel in Moscow called this "operating through the gap." Such risky acts depended on a well-established pattern of travel, so that when the officer briefly disappeared the KGB surveillance teams would a.s.sume that it was their error to have lost him.

By the early 1980s, those skeptical that the CIA could operate in Moscow had been silenced with several remarkable clandestine successes. Viktor Sheymov, a brilliant engineer from the KGB's Eighth Directorate (communications security and signals intelligence) had been smuggled out of the USSR with his wife and daughter in May 1980.6 A. G. Tolkachev was reporting regularly about advanced Soviet aviation developments during clandestine meetings in Moscow. A. G. Tolkachev was reporting regularly about advanced Soviet aviation developments during clandestine meetings in Moscow.7 Although Although TRIGON TRIGON had been lost in 1977, he, along with another agent, code-named had been lost in 1977, he, along with another agent, code-named AEBEEP AEBEEP, a GRU general, had been handled successfully inside, and new technical collections systems were being deployed. Technology was melting some of the iron in the Iron Curtain.

CHAPTER 10.

A Dissident at Heart

I have chosen a course which does not permit one to move backward, and I have no intention of veering from this course.-A. G. Tolkachev, as quoted in Studies in Intelligence Clandestine operations inside the Soviet Union through the 1970s steadily increased along with reliance on new spy devices. These operations, although relatively small in number, were growing in frequency and yielding successes that would have been unimaginable in the Penkovsky era. Agent operations, once wholly dependent on the traditional tools of secret writing, signal sites, and dead drops were undergoing a technological revolution and defeating the KGB counterintelligence apparatus. The new generation of equipment focused on three areas critical for running agent operations: copying doc.u.ments, communicating with agents, and countering surveillance.

Prior to 1970, techniques for agent communications were limited to a small number of proven techniques, primarily secret writing, microdots, radio broadcasts, and dead drops. Now materials, electronics, chemistry, and miniaturization were transforming agent operations. Technical capability was becoming integral to operational planning and execution.

Whether it was an electronic surveillance package such as the SRR-100 or the T-100 subminiature camera, denied-area operations received the first run of every new device that flowed out of OTS-or at least got first crack at it. A new piece of spy gear provided the element of surprise, since the longer an item was in use, the more likely it would be exposed by defecting agents and subsequently susceptible to technical countermeasures.

Moscow, where operations were largely dependent on the new gadgetry, was to become the proving ground in modern espionage. High-tech spy gear was new territory for agent operations and critical questions had to be answered. For example, would an agent accept "impersonal" handling? How will the equipment be delivered? How are agents trained? Can the agent be trusted with gear that cost millions of dollars to develop? Can the agent reliably operate the new technology? If a device malfunctions, how will it be repaired? Where can the agent hide obvious spy gear?

A second, more subtle change had also taken place among case officers. Almost all Agency personnel working in Moscow were baby boomers, just a few years out of college. Thirty years later, photographs of the era surprise even those who posed for them. The now-fading pictures show grinning youths, relaxed and dressed in the casual American fas.h.i.+ons of the day. This change in appearance by the " '60s generation" confounded the KGB, making it more difficult for them to pinpoint the intelligence officers who now dressed in the casual fas.h.i.+ons of the 1970s rather than official-looking suits and ties.

In part, youth was also an operational requirement, since the KGB monitored all Americans in Moscow. Once an American was identified as being CIA, he was flagged throughout all subsequent postings and into retirement. A hint of suspicion would earn the officer additional surveillance.

Officers began building their official covers months, sometimes years before leaving for an a.s.signment. They learned the procedures, lingo, and customs of their cover jobs, so by the time they arrived in the Soviet Union, they were virtually indistinguishable from their nonintelligence colleagues. Years after returning home to a Was.h.i.+ngton suburb, one TOO remembered, with some pride, being approached by a former colleague who inquired whether his wife, and not he, had been a "spy."

Youthful officers provided another, though unexpected, operational benefit. The baby boomers were, compared to the earlier generation of officers, comfortable with the pace of technological innovation. They had grown up with consumer products being regularly introduced, updated, and drifting into obsolescence. In their experience, one technology always supplanted another. Every gadget got smaller, more reliable, and less expensive. If a transistor was better than a vacuum tube, then a printed circuit board was superior to a transistor, and another advance could be expected within a few years. This expectation carried over from consumer products to a constant demand for newer, smaller, and more reliable spy gear.

Just as the cla.s.s of scientists that entered OTS in the 1960s found technology in the lab lagging behind what existed in private research centers, the new case officers entering the DO in the 1970s discovered that their expectations of "spy gadgets" outpaced the reality. The fantasy of 1960s TV spy shows such as Get Smart Get Smart and and Mission: Impossible Mission: Impossible, together with the popularity of the James Bond movies, had changed expectations about the role technology played in supporting operations. Ops officers began to believe that the "magic" of engineering and spy gadgetry they saw in Q's laboratory might be, at least on some level, real.1 Senior OTS officers recall temporarily rea.s.signing techs to telephone duty to handle inquiries on the day following the airing of new episodes of Senior OTS officers recall temporarily rea.s.signing techs to telephone duty to handle inquiries on the day following the airing of new episodes of Mission: Impossible. Mission: Impossible. Most of the calls were from operations officers who wanted to know, "Could OTS do Most of the calls were from operations officers who wanted to know, "Could OTS do that that?"

Case officers did not need to understand the physics that put Neil Arm-strong and his crew on the moon. It was enough to know it was possible. The same was true about the science behind a dry secret writing carbon paper or a battery that would last twenty years in an eavesdropping device. All that mattered was that it worked, was reliable, and met the operational requirement at hand.

As technology advanced, CIA scientists began designing large-scale, highly sophisticated technical collection platforms. In many cases, these plans were so imaginative they led to a conflict between the technically possible and operationally realistic. A technically viable operation from the perspective of a Langley laboratory could represent an unacceptably high risk for the case officer facing KGB surveillance in Moscow. Another problem arose when sophisticated equipment that performed flawlessly in the lab proved impractical to maintain and service in the field.

To resolve these conflicts between technology and operations in Moscow, the TOO became the trusted intermediary between the cadre of scientists at Langley and the case officers in Moscow. The TOO's role was that of translating case officers' requirements into the technical language of engineers and making technical constraints understandable to the ops planners. Case officers needed to appreciate the limitations, as well as the capabilities these advanced systems offered while the design engineers had to recognize the clandestine realities of the denied area.

"Back in the late seventies and early eighties the DO and OTS regularly received proposals for technical collection operations in denied areas," recalled one tech who served in Moscow. "A scenario could require getting someone fifty kilometers outside the city, carrying eighty pounds of equipment, then climbing a tree to a height of about a hundred feet, putting a collection package up there and aligning the antenna to within a degree or two, while evading surveillance the entire time. Well, as valid as the target or the operation might be, the likelihood of ever being able to do it was slim to none."

The culture of the DO added yet another hurdle for technical operations. Large-scale technical collection systems transformed the traditional roles between case officer and technology. Essential technology, such as secret writing, doc.u.ment photography, and agent communications, historically had served the DO as an aid to agent operations. However, technical collection operations in a hostile country were new. When technology became the means for collecting intelligence, the role of the DO sometimes s.h.i.+fted to supporting the collection operation rather than managing it.

Some DO case officers felt that they were being asked to carry all of the operational risks in denied areas, while any successes were credited to the technology. And the risks were high. Like agent operations, a compromised technical program could expose methods of collection, result in the arrest of officers, create an international incident, and jeopardize other ongoing, but unrelated intelligence activities.2 Dimitri Fedorovich Polyakov, a career Soviet intelligence officer who eventually rose to the rank of Lieutenant General within the GRU, began life as a spy for the United States at almost the same time as Penkovsky in 1961 and continued his clandestine work through the 1970s.3 During his service as an agent for U.S. intelligence, Polyakov was a pioneer in the transition from the CIA's reliance on traditional "low-tech" to innovative high-tech tradecraft. During his service as an agent for U.S. intelligence, Polyakov was a pioneer in the transition from the CIA's reliance on traditional "low-tech" to innovative high-tech tradecraft.

Polyakov was recruited in New York in 1961 by the FBI as a counterintelligence source. He provided ident.i.ties of illegals working for Soviet intelligence within the United States as well as the names of several Americans who were Soviet penetrations of the U.S. government.4 After his rea.s.signment in 1966, Polyakov was handed off to the CIA and continued reporting from a series of postings in Burma, India, and the Philippines. Rising within the ranks of the GRU, he acc.u.mulated a long list of CIA code names, including After his rea.s.signment in 1966, Polyakov was handed off to the CIA and continued reporting from a series of postings in Burma, India, and the Philippines. Rising within the ranks of the GRU, he acc.u.mulated a long list of CIA code names, including GTBEEP, TOPHAT, GTBEEP, TOPHAT, and and BOURBON BOURBON.

TOPHAT requested little money from his case officers, and accepted only a few small gifts from the Agency, such as woodworking tools and a couple of shotguns for hunting. Motivated primarily by his hatred of the Soviet system, he saw himself as a proud Russian, but a reluctant Soviet. One case officer who knew Polyakov well described the agent as capable of "both intense moments of pride in the Soviet military while simultaneously despising the system it served." requested little money from his case officers, and accepted only a few small gifts from the Agency, such as woodworking tools and a couple of shotguns for hunting. Motivated primarily by his hatred of the Soviet system, he saw himself as a proud Russian, but a reluctant Soviet. One case officer who knew Polyakov well described the agent as capable of "both intense moments of pride in the Soviet military while simultaneously despising the system it served."

He was the consummate professional. During a turnover meeting in India in the late 1970s, when a departing CIA case officer introduced his replacement, Polyakov noted the new officer's neatly trimmed beard. "We don't allow beards in the GRU," commented Polyakov. At the next meeting, when the two case officers arrived at a hotel room safe house in advance of Polyakov, the senior officer asked the replacement why he had not shaved the beard.

"Why should I?" asked the younger man.

"What our friend was telling you," explained the senior officer, "is that a GRU general is not comfortable being with someone wearing a beard. It could raise questions."

The young officer got a razor from the front desk, went into the bathroom, and shaved off his beard. Shortly thereafter Polyakov arrived and immediately complimented his new case officer on neatness and appearance. The turnover went smoothly, although the officer's wife found it curious that, after wearing a beard for several years, her husband, without warning or explanation, had decided suddenly to go clean-shaven.

Understandably, the Agency and FBI were eager to keep open this pipeline of counterintelligence, which had grown over the years to encompa.s.s Soviet espionage operations outside the United States as well. Polyakov also reported on the Red Army and its armaments, including biological and chemical weapons programs. If one were to judge the value of intelligence by the number of customers who used the information, then Polyakov's product was priceless. His information flowed from the CIA to the Pentagon, White House, and State Department.

In the a.s.sessment of officers who worked with him, Polyakov was a nearly perfect spy. Not only was he highly placed within the military structure, he possessed the training and discipline of a skilled intelligence officer.

Because he understood KGB counterintelligence tactics, Polyakov proved to be an extremely cautious agent. Methods of covert communicationswere changed frequently to lower the risks as much as possible. Initially he communicated using OTS's latest secret-writing techniques and conventional dead drops. Outside the USSR, he employed brush pa.s.ses and received signals via personal ads placed in The New York Times, The New York Times, under the name "Donald F." under the name "Donald F."5 These methods required significant time and planning, and carried with them varying amounts of risk. None permitted real-time or near real-time exchanges with the case officer in case of an emergency. "We had an agent providing us with critical counterintelligence and positive intelligence about military policies, technical information on Soviet equipment, and penetrations of the American government. These are invaluable reports. But whatever he had, it had to be condensed into short messages of a few hundred words laboriously written down and ciphered using an OTP," said one of his ops officers. "Because Polyakov didn't have a private place to work, this was all done while hiding in a closet or sitting on the john. His family didn't know about his secret work, and his children, wife, and mother-in-law were living in his apartment. He had to sit and work with these miniature one-time pads and encipher all this information prior to sending it to us and decipher what we sent him. Then, Polyakov had to go outside, take a deep breath, put down a dead drop in a public place and hope he was not seen and that the case officer found it before anybody stumbled across it." The operation needed a device enabling the Agency to communicate quickly and securely with an agent while lowering the risk of compromise.

The dilemma of securely communicating with Polyakov was solved while he was posted to India (1973-76), when the CIA developed its first electronic short-range agent communication system for use in a denied area. The new SRAC device, a form of "burst transmitter," carried the code name BUSTER. Measuring approximately 6 3 1 inches and weighing just over half a pound, the unit was small enough to conceal easily in a coat pocket. BUSTER had a tiny single-digit display with a Cyrillic type font and a keyboard that was no larger than an inch and a half square. To load a message, Polyakov would first convert his text into a cipher using a one-time pad, then poke at the tiny keyboard one character at a time to store up to 1,500 characters. After the data was loaded, Polyakov would contrive a reason to go within the transmitter's thousand-foot range of the base station receiver and press the SEND b.u.t.ton.

The receiver base station was a larger unit, measuring approximately 81 2 11 5 inches thick, and typically sat in one of several windowsills of Agency residences or in parked cars. Because base stations were maintained in multiple locations, Polyakov could vary his transmission points making his pattern of movement around the city difficult, if not impossible, for any KGB watchers to discern. BUSTER's burst signal minimized transmission time, thereby limiting the KGB's ability to detect the signal and pinpoint its source. 2 11 5 inches thick, and typically sat in one of several windowsills of Agency residences or in parked cars. Because base stations were maintained in multiple locations, Polyakov could vary his transmission points making his pattern of movement around the city difficult, if not impossible, for any KGB watchers to discern. BUSTER's burst signal minimized transmission time, thereby limiting the KGB's ability to detect the signal and pinpoint its source.

When Polyakov returned to Moscow, he could communicate while riding in a car, streetcar, or bus, or when walking or riding a bicycle, simply by pressing a b.u.t.ton on the device in his pocket during the few seconds he was within range. He could now send electronic messages at the time and location of his choosing. Better still, the communication link was two-way. Once the base station received the message, it replied with a confirmation signal and transmitted its own preloaded, though more limited character set, back to the agent's unit. All this occurred in less than five seconds.

"He would poke in his message, then go out for his walk, or on an errand. He had been informed of the general area, but not specific location, of the base station. Once he got into range, he'd push a b.u.t.ton," explained one case officer. "His message went to the case officer's machine, which received the information and sent a message back automatically. Polyakov looked at BUSTER and saw a red light flas.h.i.+ng that indicated the transmission was successful. Then he returned to his apartment and read our message." In a primitive form, BUSTER possibly represented the world's first text message exchanges.

BUSTER was a technical leap in covert communications equivalent to the telephone in public communications. The distance protected the ident.i.ty of the communicators, while the short burst and encryption protected the communication itself. The major drawback was possession of the SRAC device, which would conclusively identify the owner as a spy.

The cost of BUSTER's development required expenditures exceeding what OTS alone could afford. To cover the budgetary burden of such projects, OTS teamed up with other offices in the Directorate of Science and Technology, most often the Office of Development and Engineering and the Office of Research and Development. Many of ORD's original scientists who had been part of TSS and TSD now focused on long-term research programs and technology with potential value to the Agency. OD&E engineers were responsible for satellite and overhead programs and the myriad technologies a.s.sociated with their platforms, cameras, and sensors.

The consulting role OTS played with ORD and OD&E was not an entirely new function. George Saxe had performed a similar task a few years earlier, translating DDP operational requirements for technology to OTS engineers. Now, the OTS engineers were supplying operational requirements to scientists in ORD and OD&E-merging new technology with the stringent operational requirements of denied areas.

Just as a low-tech dead drop disguised as a brick had to come as close as possible to looking, feeling, and weighing the same as a real brick, similar types of pragmatic, operational design features had to be integrated into this new generation of high-tech devices. Whatever came out of the lab needed to be practical for an agent whose life could not be risked. It had to be easy and uncomplicated to use even under enormous stress.

These requirements were both obvious and not so obvious. For instance, BUSTER had to be small enough to conceal while transmitting. Two b.u.t.tons to send a message was one too many, because the device had to be activated covertly with one hand inside a coat pocket. Its short-range, line-of-sight transmission would need to be the equivalent of a whisper, rather than a shout, since weaker transmissions were more difficult for counterintelligence receivers to detect.

Powering the device presented unantic.i.p.ated problems. With commercial batteries frequently in short supply in Moscow, BUSTER's batteries could be either rechargeable or resupplied via dead drop. The decision was made to go with rechargeable batteries, since every operational act, including loading and clearing a dead drop, was inherently risky. However, this meant the agent would need a battery charger and a way of concealing yet another piece of spy equipment at his home or office.

OTS provided the concealment for Polyakov's BUSTER inside a stereo unit he purchased and s.h.i.+pped home before returning to Moscow in 1977. Other concealments were provided when he was outside the Soviet Bloc, together with spare BUSTERs. To attract less attention these concealments were often designed to fit inside existing objects the agent already owned.

There were logistical as well as operational challenges in Moscow to be solved. From what locations could the agent make a transmission without attracting suspicion? The TOOs ran covert signal path surveys to identify specific spots around the city suitable for transmissions and evaluated apartments as possible base stations. In order not to attract KGB attention while conducting these surveys, the casing work was divided among all the office personnel who, with their concealed cameras, would covertly photograph the streets and the views outside apartments to identify potential send and receive locations.

The TOO processed the film from casing runs and these street-level pictures were mated with Headquarters-supplied overhead photography. The distances, angles, and interfering structures between the potential base stations and an agent's send positions were then plotted. As usable sites were identified, a site sketch map was prepared and pa.s.sed to the agent via dead drop with instructions, "Here are the places to go to make your transmission during the next time period."

From the vantage point of the twenty-first century, BUSTER is a primitive technology. However, compared to technical spy gear available to Penkovsky, it was a miracle advance. Not only did it link the agent and case officer more closely in real time than ever before possible, it also provided anonymity and security for the agent. Within little more than a decade after Penkovsky's arrest, covert communications advanced from a matchbox dangling behind a radiator to electronic messaging that was virtually impossible to detect.6 BUSTER was not only created for Polyakov, but also benefited from his suggestions regarding its design and functionality. "In my opinion, Polyakov drove the technology," said one of his case officers. "He would kind of teasingly say, 'You mean to tell me the best you can do is give me something this big?' Sometimes I think he would do it for the fun of it, his way of letting the case officer know they had more of an equal relations.h.i.+p than agent- handler. Not everyone gets to be a general in the GRU, and he knew he was very good at his job. Plus he had succeeded in working for us for years while leading a double life."

Polyakov's input proved invaluable, despite his teasing remarks. He understood the Soviet counterintelligence capabilities at home and abroad, as well as the consequences he faced should the device or its use be discovered. When he finally received the finished version of BUSTER, he told his case officer, "Tell your technical people this is great, I love this piece of equipment . . ." In 1980, Polyakov retired to pursue his pa.s.sions for fis.h.i.+ng, hunting, and woodworking. The story should have ended there, with a man of conscience quietly living out his remaining years.

The KGB eventually discovered Polyakov's clandestine activities, but as with TRIGON, TRIGON, the discovery did not come from any known deficiencies in technical equipment or tradecraft. Both were betrayed by Americans working for Soviet intelligence. the discovery did not come from any known deficiencies in technical equipment or tradecraft. Both were betrayed by Americans working for Soviet intelligence.7 Two Americans compromised Two Americans compromised TOPHAT TOPHAT's ident.i.ty. The first, FBI Special Agent Robert Hanssen exposed Polyakov to the GRU in 1979 while serving as a counterintelligence officer stationed in New York. The revelation strained credibility within the GRU and was thought to be almost unbelievable.8 By then Polyakov was a respected senior officer and even the somewhat timid proposal to launch a full investigation was turned down. By then Polyakov was a respected senior officer and even the somewhat timid proposal to launch a full investigation was turned down.9 Within the ranks of Soviet military intelligence, casting the shadow of suspicion on a Lieutenant General was to gamble one's own career if the charge proved false, and few within the GRU were prepared to take that risk. Within the ranks of Soviet military intelligence, casting the shadow of suspicion on a Lieutenant General was to gamble one's own career if the charge proved false, and few within the GRU were prepared to take that risk.

But in May 1985, CIA officer Aldrich Ames provided information to the KGB that implicated General Polyakov as a CIA a.s.set. As part of its ensuing investigation, the KGB lured Polyakov away from his modest dacha outside Moscow, then arrested, interrogated, and executed him in 1986.10 Reliable accounts relate that during his interrogation he revealed details of what he handed over to his American contacts, and that he had refused the opportunity for exfiltration. In 1990, Pravda Pravda announced Polyakov's execution in a story detailing the account of a Soviet citizen who spied for the Americans, named "Donald." announced Polyakov's execution in a story detailing the account of a Soviet citizen who spied for the Americans, named "Donald." DONALD DONALD, one of Polyakov's code names used in personal ads in The New York Times The New York Times years earlier, was the type of detail revealed only during a detailed confession. years earlier, was the type of detail revealed only during a detailed confession.11 By publicizing the story, the Soviets intended to send a message to the CIA and FBI as well as to members of Soviet intelligence who might consider following Polyakov's path. From another perspective, the Soviet account confirmed Polyakov's status as, in the words of a case officer, "the most perfect agent one can reasonably imagine."

Adolf Tolkachev waited patiently on a snowy street near a Moscow gas station in January 1977. The station was frequented by foreigners and when an American-appearing driver stopped, Tolkachev asked, in English, if he was from the United States. When the driver answered that he was, Tolkachev calmly dropped a folded sheet of paper on the car seat through the open window.

Since neither individual looked like what they were, it's difficult to say which of them would have been more surprised to learn the truth. Tolkachev, a middle-aged, undistinguished Russian, was actually a top Soviet military engineer who had recently decided to become a spy. The young, casually dressed American in the car was the local CIA chief.12 Both were carrying their own secrets and wary of the KGB watchers. Both were carrying their own secrets and wary of the KGB watchers.

Tolkachev, then a systems engineer in the NIIR (Scientific Research Inst.i.tute of Radio) building was, by his own description, a "dissident at heart." Inspired by writers like Solzhenitsyn and Sakharov, he was in a state of near anguish. In one of his letters about his decision to spy, he wrote: .

Some inner worm started to torment me; something has to be done. I started to write short leaflets that I planned to mail out. But, later, having thought it out properly, I understood that this was a useless undertaking. To establish contact with dissident circles which have contact with foreign journalists seemed senseless to me due to the nature of my work. (I have a top-secret clearance.) Based on the slightest suspicion, I would be totally isolated or liquidated. Thus was born my plan of action to which I have resorted.13 .

Startled by the brief encounter, the chief read the note, which asked for a meeting with an appropriate American official for a confidential discussion and suggested a choice of discreet meeting places in either the car of the American or a Metro station entrance. It proposed a response signal to confirm the meeting involving a car parked at a specific location. The envelope contained precisely drawn sketches of the locations along with a diagram showing how the car should be parked to send the correct signal.

Tolkachev could hardly have picked a worse time for the contact. Although a few operations, like TRIGON TRIGON, within Moscow were progressing, there remained a deep suspicion within the CIA of any Russian volunteer, especially in Moscow. That chance had brought the Agency's Moscow chief face to face with Tolkachev on the initial contact attempt only amplified this distrust. What were the odds that a legitimate volunteer would hand a note to the highest-ranking American intelligence officer in Moscow? And the fact that Tolkachev's approach should occur just before a scheduled diplomatic visit by Cyrus Vance on behalf of a newly elected President, Jimmy Carter, made it all the more suspicious.

On the other hand, many of the Agency's most important agents, including Penkovsky, had volunteered in a similar manner. Penkovsky, for instance, had sent several messages in 1960 to two American students, a British businessman, and a Canadian businessman in an effort to establish a communications channel before the British followed up.14 However, if Tolkachev was a KGB "dangle," responding to his approach could allow the Soviets to pinpoint agency personnel, identify agent-handling tradecraft, disrupt ongoing Moscow operations, and embarra.s.s a newly elected President. 15 15 Added to this was the fact that Tolkachev's notes failed to provide sufficient personal information to identify him or specifics about his access to information that might justify the risk in making contact. CIA Headquarters directed its Moscow officers not to respond to the note. Added to this was the fact that Tolkachev's notes failed to provide sufficient personal information to identify him or specifics about his access to information that might justify the risk in making contact. CIA Headquarters directed its Moscow officers not to respond to the note.

A month later, Tolkachev was back. This time he slid into the chief's car as it was parked. The two had a brief conversation and Tolkachev left another note. Headquarters again directed that no response be made. Two weeks later, Tolkachev returned a third time, leaving a note that provided additional personal and professional information. Headquarters considered the proposal again, but determined that counterintelligence concerns overrode any meeting. Then, in May, Tolkachev made a fourth approach, spotting the car and pounding on it to get the American's attention. He was ignored, and that summer the CIA chief left Moscow for another a.s.signment.

Six months pa.s.sed until December 1977 when an Italian national working for the Americans was approached by an unknown Soviet and handed a note at a local grocery store. In this note, Tolkachev volunteered to work as an agent and included two pages of technical data on Soviet aircraft electronic systems to establish his access to sensitive information.

Langley continued to forbid contact. There were now even more reasons to be cautious than before. A few months earlier in August of 1977-barely a month after the arrest of Martha Peterson and loss of TRIGON TRIGON-a fire in the emba.s.sy, which some claimed was suspicious, destroyed three upper floors, including the roof. And other operations were compromised that autumn.

The fire had been a physical disaster for much of the emba.s.sy. Ron Duncan, a TOO, was having an evening drink at the bar in the Marine House when reports arrived about smoke in the emba.s.sy. A few moments later, a Marine cadre discovered the fire already burning out of control on the upper floors. As calls went to the Moscow fire department, Ron rushed to his post and, with water from fire hoses pouring through the ceiling, acted as a guard throughout the night to prevent doc.u.ments and equipment from being taken by the Russian firemen swarming through the building.

"The Russian firemen, I have to commend them, they were super. They were superb firefighters," said Ron. "The Russians came in with a lot of fire trucks. They poured water on the fire from ten o'clock Friday night until eight Sat.u.r.day morning. And I swear, they were so efficient with their aim that not one drop of water hit the sidewalk. It was all concentrated on the fire in the building. But the combination of fire, water, and smoke wiped out several offices. Almost everything was destroyed."

The fire presented a myriad of security problems. Damaged doc.u.ments and photographs could not be thrown into the trash, which would likely be searched by the KGB. Nor, for the same reason, could the damaged furniture or office equipment be hauled to the Moscow dump. Security required that chairs, desks, typewriters, and other furnis.h.i.+ngs not locally procured had to be returned to the United States. A simple thing, such as the number of discarded chairs, might provide KGB's counterintelligence with an estimate of the number of Agency personnel.

It would, Ron knew, be a ma.s.sive cleanup and reconstruction project. Virtually every piece of office furnis.h.i.+ngs was damaged beyond use and would have to be disa.s.sembled for s.h.i.+pment. The restoration work would go on seven days a week, eighteen hours a day, for more than a year.

So Ron Duncan found himself with a third full-time job-"ODA"-Other Duties As a.s.signed. Cleaning up, disa.s.sembling, packing, s.h.i.+pping, and reconstruction occurred alongside his cover work and his TOO responsibilities of building concealments and deploying technology. "At least I had some training," Ron recalled. "My tech skills, electrical, painting, carpentry, all came in handy."

Tolkachev, unaware of the disruptions caused by the fire, persisted in attempting to secure a meeting with an Agency officer. It was not until February of 1978 that Headquarters finally approved contact with the determined volunteer. Information on Soviet aircraft that he pa.s.sed in his earlier note was found to be of such high value that the potential benefit was judged to outweigh the risks.

In his previous letter, Tolkachev had included a partial telephone number missing two digits. His instructions informed the CIA he would be standing in line at a designated bus stop at a certain time holding two pieces of plywood, each with one of the missing digits written on it. All the CIA officer had to do was drive by the bus stop at the designated time and copy the missing digits. The plan failed. An attempt to dial the completed number proved unsuccessful. However, if Agency personnel had any concerns that Tolkachev had given up, they were unfounded. The would-be agent was nothing if not dogged.

As the chief was walking with his wife in March, Tolkachev unexpectedly approached, and quickly handed over a package with eleven handwritten pages on airfield technology. Included in the package was detailed personal information regarding both himself and his family, along with an address, phone number, and other pertinent information. A case officer called the telephone number specified in the note, and this time made contact. If he was not a dangle, Tolkachev had taken an enormous risk in identifying himself and family while pa.s.sing secret military information. Had that note fallen into the hands of the KGB, the consequences would have been dire.

Five months after the initial phone call, Tolkachev was directed to a Moscow dead drop site near his home. Ron had constructed a concealment using a locally obtained construction worker's mitten. To give the appearance of an unusably dirty, well-worn mitten, he ripped and dirtied the glove so that it resembled a piece of litter. Dropped beside a phone booth near the would-be spy's apartment, it would attract no attention, Tolkachev would find concealed within the worn fabric all the materials needed to begin his clandestine reporting.

The concealment contained special carbon paper for secret writing, three cover letters with nonalerting content whose blank reverse side would hold the SW message, accommodation addresses, a one-time pad to encipher and decipher exchanges, instructions for using the OTP, intelligence requirements, and operational instructions.16 A month later, three SW letters arrived at accommodation addresses outside the USSR. Once developed by OTS techs, their physical and chemical a.n.a.lysis revealed all three had been opened, but none showed signs that the SW was detected.17 The letters contained tantalizing information from Tolkachev, including the a.s.sertion that he had ninety-one pages of handwritten notes on subjects such as the new Soviet airborne radar and reconnaissance system and the status of a new Soviet aircraft weapons system. Soviet specialists judged the information to be so important that, despite the The letters contained tantalizing information from Tolkachev, including the a.s.sertion that he had ninety-one pages of handwritten notes on subjects such as the new Soviet airborne radar and reconnaissance system and the status of a new Soviet aircraft weapons system. Soviet specialists judged the information to be so important that, despite the TRIGON TRIGON roll-up, Langley authorized a high-risk personal meeting to establish an in-country communications plan between Tolkachev and his handler. roll-up, Langley authorized a high-risk personal meeting to establish an in-country communications plan between Tolkachev and his handler.

The meeting was scheduled for New Year's Day 1979. Because it was a popular holiday, KGB surveillance tended to be light. A Moscow case officer, after determining he was "black"-that is, without KGB surveillance-called Tolkachev at his apartment to trigger the meeting at a predetermined location. They talked while walking outside in the frigid Moscow winter for less than an hour. Tolkachev pa.s.sed nearly a hundred pages of highly technical aeronautical design data that included diagrams, electronic specifications, and material copied from official papers. In return, the case officer gave him a list of intelligence requirements along with "good faith" money. The case officer reported that Tolkachev was "calm, deliberate, and one of the few Russians sober on such a major holiday."

CIA operational sketches of covert communications sites for use by A. G. Tolkachev in Moscow, circa 1984.

In Was.h.i.+ngton, Pentagon and Agency a.n.a.lysts marveled at the detail of the intelligence pa.s.sed along at the meeting. The reporting was consistent with other verified information about Soviet aircraft technology and expanded the U.S. understanding of Soviet efforts in weapon systems design.

Seven months before that first personal meeting with Tolkachev, samples of his initial letters and notes were studied by an OTS handwriting a.n.a.lyst. The graphologist, who received no identifying information about Tolkachev, not even his nationality, or background on the case, returned a report that concluded: .

The writer is intelligent, purposeful, and generally self-confident. He is self-disciplined, but not overly rigid. He has well-above-average intelligence and has good organizing ability. He is observant and conscientious and pays meticulous attention to details. He is quite self-a.s.sured and may plow ahead at times in a way which is not discreet or subtle. All in all, he is a reasonably well-adjusted individual and appears intellectually and psychologically equipped to become a useful, versatile a.s.set.18 .

A year later Tolkachev would describe his motivation: .

I have chosen a course which does not permit one to move backward, and I have no intention of veering from this course. My actions in the future depend on [my] health, and changes in the nature of [my] work. Concerning remuneration, I would not begin to establish contact for any sum of money with, for example, the Chinese Emba.s.sy. But how about America? Maybe it has bewitched me, and I am madly in love with it? I have not seen your country with my own eyes, and to love it unseen, I do not have enough fantasy or romanticism. However, based on some facts, I got the impression that I would prefer to live in America. It is for this very reason that I decided to offer you my collaboration. But I am not an altruist alone. Remuneration for me is not just money. It is, even to a greater extent, the evaluation of the significance and the importance of my work.

Tolkachev had studied "opto-mechanical radar training," graduating from the Kharkov Polytechnical Inst.i.tute in 1954. He worked as a "leading systems designer" in a large open office with twenty-four other people. Earning 250 rubles a month plus a 40 percent "secrecy bonus," he lived with his wife and son in a ninth-floor apartment consisting of two rooms plus a kitchen, bath, and toilet. Though above average for the typical Soviet, the cramped quarters would later complicate his clandestine work.

Following the first personal meeting in January 1979, the CIA realized that Tolkachev, in contrast to Polyakov and Penkovsky, had no familiarity with basic tradecraft, such as dead drops or countersurveillance. His job and personal status precluded any secure way to provide the kind of training TRIGON TRIGON had received outside the USSR. Under those circ.u.mstances, the decision was made to continue personal meetings in Moscow as the primary means for communicating. had received outside the USSR. Under those circ.u.mstances, the decision was made to continue personal meetings in Moscow as the primary means for communicating.

For the next eighteen months Tolkachev was safely met every two or three months. During those meetings Tolkachev pa.s.sed information while the case officer refined operational details of the elaborate communication system customized to accommodate the agent's circ.u.mstances at work and home. Every three months Tolkachev was given the opportunity to pa.s.s material to his handler via a dead drop. If the dead drop was to be used, there was a "ready to receive" signal left at a prearranged public site. The signal would have been as simple as a lipstick mark on a telephone pole or a colored thumbtack left on a wooden signpost, invisible to anyone who might pa.s.s by. Once the package had been received, the next day the case officer put up a "recovery" signal confirming that the dead drop had been "cleared."

Tolkachev could also initiate a dead drop any Monday by making a mark at a predetermined location. The case officer would reply that he was "ready to recover" the following Wednesday by using a "parked-car" signal.19 The same night Tolkachev saw the signal he would "fill" the dead drop. The same night Tolkachev saw the signal he would "fill" the dead drop.

Despite the greater safety of dead drops, Tolkachev preferred personal meetings and argued they were no more risky than dead drops since the case officer had to be free of surveillance to either "make the meet" or "clear the drop."20 His handlers acquiesced, in part, because new OTS technologies had greatly improved the CIA's surveillance detection tools. His handlers acquiesced, in part, because new OTS technologies had greatly improved the CIA's surveillance detection tools.

Tolkachev had access to an unprecedented array of technical doc.u.ments, but lacked a way to copy them.21 A film-based, easily concealed camera was the best solution available. The Minox Model III had functioned well for Penkovsky twenty years earlier, but was best suited for copying doc.u.ments in a studio or office where the user could work free from worries about security. A film-based, easily concealed camera was the best solution available. The Minox Model III had functioned well for Penkovsky twenty years earlier, but was best suited for copying doc.u.ments in a studio or office where the user could work free from worries about security. 22 22 Except for their size, these commercial subminiature cameras were not designed for covert use. With their noisy shutters, no automatic film advance, and lack of capability to discreetly photograph a doc.u.ment, the commercial products did not make good spy cameras for high-risk operations. Except for their size, these commercial subminiature cameras were not designed for covert use. With their noisy shutters, no automatic film advance, and lack of capability to discreetly photograph a doc.u.ment, the commercial products did not make good spy cameras for high-risk operations. 23 23 What Tolkachev needed was a camera that could be concealed and operated while seated at his desk, like the one used by TRIGON TRIGON. Unfortunately, for an untested and untrained agent, the agency did not want to risk the technology. OTS came up with an alternative, constructing a small, concealable camera and light meter, which was pa.s.sed to Tolkachev via a dead drop glove in February of 1979.24 While the camera had worked perfectly in the OTS laboratory, Tolkachev identified a number of operational limitations. The slow film speed, although faster than the original, commercially available Minox film, required more light than was readily available inside his office. The "click" noise of the shutter also caused him to worry about attracting unwanted attention. He found it awkward and impractical to hold the camera steady for the required exposure time. Of more than a dozen rolls of film that Tolkachev pa.s.sed to case officers in April and June of 1979, most of the images turned out to be blurred and unreadable.

At Tolkachev's suggestion, until a better camera could be provided, he was given a Pentax ME 35mm SLR with a commercial "copy clamp" that could be affixed to the back of a chair to hold the camera steady over the doc.u.ment. The arrangement produced excellent images, but was suited for use only when he could find a few moments of privacy in his apartment. 25 25 Even given these restrictions, the camera didn't dampen his enthusiasm or slow production. In October and December of 1979, he pa.s.sed 150 rolls of 35mm film that contained high-quality images taken with the Pentax. Even given these restrictions, the camera didn't dampen his enthusiasm or slow production. In October and December of 1979, he pa.s.sed 150 rolls of 35mm film that contained high-quality images taken with the Pentax.

After nearly a year of experience with Tolkachev, the CIA determined that he could be trusted with more advanced and sensitive gear. OTS then provided two of its best custom 4mm-lens subminiature cameras in October of 1979 and four more in December. The cameras, which produced fifty frames, were "packaged" in active concealments and could be disguised as almost any commonly carried item, such as a pen, a cigarette lighter, or a tube of lipstick.

More problems arose in December of 1979 when Tolkachev's inst.i.tute introduced new security procedures. Under the new guidelines, he could no longer check out an unlimited number of cla.s.sified doc.u.ments from the inst.i.tute library promising they would be returned by the end of the workday, then run home for an impromptu photo session. With the new procedures, cla.s.sified doc.u.ments could still be checked out, but only if the borrower's building pa.s.s-propusk-was left in the library. This ended his ability to photograph doc.u.ments at home.

Improvising, Tolkachev began photographing doc.u.ments inside a bathroom stall during working hours. By February he had filled four of his six subminiature cameras with over 200 exposures, but remained dissatisfied with the small camera, complaining that it "still required too much light," was difficult to hold steady, and sometimes malfunctioned.

In order to return to his home photography, Tolkachev suggested the CIA fabricate an exact reproduction of his propusk propusk (building pa.s.s) to leave in the library while he used his genuine pa.s.s to enter and exit the building. To this end, he provided a color photograph and description of the pa.s.s to create the replica. However, before the fake pa.s.s could be fabricated, the new security restrictions were abruptly cancelled because record keeping under the guidelines became a burden for the library staff. (building pa.s.s) to leave in the library while he used his genuine pa.s.s to enter and exit the building. To this end, he provided a color photograph and description of the pa.s.s to create the replica. However, before the fake pa.s.s could be fabricated, the new security restrictions were abruptly cancelled because record keeping under the guidelines became a burden for the library staff.

The impact of the change was immediate as Tolkachev was again able to take doc.u.ments home to photograph with his Pentax. Weather proved to be an unexpected, though important factor. During the winter, his heavy outer clothing allowed him to conceal more doc.u.ments than during the summer. In June of 1980, more than 200 rolls of 35mm film were pa.s.sed, the largest exchange of film in one meeting.

Despite the surprise change of security requirements at the inst.i.tute, graphic artists at OTS continued work on the propusk propusk reproduction. In October of 1980, Tolkachev then asked the CIA to reproduce the inst.i.tute's doc.u.ment sign-out card containing a running list of all doc.u.ments he accessed. He was justifiably worried, since a leak could trigger an investigation leading to the inst.i.tute and doc.u.ment cards. However, a clean sign-out card would sever all links between him and the compromised doc.u.ments. reproduction. In October of 1980, Tolkachev then asked the CIA to reproduce the inst.i.tute's doc.u.ment sign-out card containing a running list of all doc.u.ments he accessed. He was justifiably worried, since a leak could trigger an investigation leading to the inst.i.tute and doc.u.ment cards. However, a clean sign-out card would sever all links between him and the compromised doc.u.ments.

In the fall of 1980 Tolkachev was issued an emergency back-up communication system based on the SRAC technology originally developed for Polyakov. This second-generation BUSTER could transmit an entire typewritten page of text and partially eliminate the need for riskier personal meetings. The new SRAC, called DISCUS, consisted of two identical units-for case officer and agent-the size of two cigarette packs laid end to end. Each unit had a small detachable antenna, charger, battery pack, Russian or English key plates, and instructions. In advance of an exchange, the agent and case officer would key in their respective messages one character at a time. As each character was entered, the unit automatically converted it to a cipher before storing it. These new units exchanged messages in "burst transmissions" of less than three seconds. The DISCUS system also had a longer line-of-sight transmission range than BUSTER and, once received, a message was automatically deciphered and readable on a small screen built into the face of each unit.

Tolkachev received a DISCUS in March of 1981, but a malfunction necessitated a replacement unit and, some months later, a successful exchange of messages occurred.

Using this new technology required all the elements of disciplined tradecraft perfected for Moscow operations. For Tolkachev, the communications plan involved initiating the exchange by leaving a signal, such as a white chalk mark on a specific telephone pole along the route normally taken by CIA officers. Once the signal was laid down and acknowledged, the agent and case officer would move into that prearranged ELD (electronic dead drop) area at the same time for the exchange.26 OTS completed the fake sign-out card and pa.s.sed it along with the duplicate propusk propusk to Tolkachev in March of 1981. Wasting no time, he quickly swapped the new "clean" doc.u.ment sign-out card for the original, confident he was safe, at least for the immediate time being. The outside cover for the forged to Tolkachev in March of 1981. Wasting no time, he quickly swapped the new "clean" doc.u.ment sign-out card for the original, confident he was safe, at least for the immediate time being. The outside cover for the forged propusk, propusk, however, was a slightly different color than the original and returned. Fortunately, with the relaxed security procedures, he was still able to check out doc.u.ments without having to surrender his building pa.s.s. however, was a slightly different color than the original and returned. Fortunately, with the relaxed security procedures, he was still able to check out doc.u.ments without having to surrender his building pa.s.s.

To ensure continued contact in case of emergency, Tolkachev was also given a commercially available shortwave radio, an OTS demodulator, and two OTPs. Part of an "Interim One-Way Link (IOWL)," the system was a technical upgrade version of what Penkovsky used twenty years earlier.27 However, because of limited privacy at his apartment and problems related to transmission times, the system had only limited operational utility for Tolkachev. However, because of limited privacy at his apartment and problems related to transmission times, the system had only limited operational utility for Tolkachev.